


What's In Your Head

by omgbubblesomg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Cock & Ball Torture, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deepthroating, Demon Blood Powered Sam, Face-Fucking, Hurt Dean, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Sharing a Body, Skull Fucking, Spinal Injury, Whump, Wound Fucking, hurt cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21830950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: “Why are you hurting us?” they ask with Dean’s voice.Sam presses a kiss into the back of Dean’s head.Because I love you,he doesn’t say. They won’t understand that, yet. They aren’t ready for the enormity of Sam’s love for them. He’s carving himself a space right next to their shared heart.DARK, GRAPHIC, AND EXTREMELY VIOLENT, EVEN FOR ME. USE YOUR DISCRETION.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 40
Kudos: 51





	What's In Your Head

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Collared](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12452508) by [omgbubblesomg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg). 



> This fic has extremely graphic gore. E X T R E M E L Y. Please don't scroll if that's not your thing.

The angel, Castiel, is finally getting tired. There’s so much to heal, and only a certain amount of grace to heal it with.

“You missed a spot,” Sam points out helpfully, putting a finger inside Dean’s shoulder to indicate the open wound. Blue light pools sluggishly, struggling to close the flesh. Sam pulls his finger out so the skin can stitch up. It takes a few minutes and the final result is ugly: a ragged raised welt. Later, Sam will peel the scar off Dean’s skin and replace it properly.

Dean’s eyes open and it takes him a moment to focus on Sam’s face. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, and Sam can no longer tell if it’s Dean or Cas speaking. They’re both too tired to keep themselves apart. He sits in Dean’s lap, straddling him backwards against the chair. He holds Dean’s head in both hands and squeezes, rattles it a bit. He imagines the messiness inside. The angel bits and human bits all soupy and congealed, so tangled that there’s hardly any difference between the two.

“Because I can,” he says simply. “And because you both need to learn a lesson.” He scrapes his fingers through Dean’s hair and tips his face up. With barely a thought he vanishes the tear tracks off Dean’s cheeks, then he stands, lets his pants fall open. He presses his crotch against the underside of Dean’s chin and waits. It takes a long moment for Dean to recognise what’s touching him, but when he does his lips close automatically. He doesn’t have the strength for the protests like he gave at the beginning. But still. His lips close.

“You belong to me,” Sam reminds him.

Dean doesn’t move, or speak, or even turn away. But his lips stay shut. Sam could pry his mouth open, if he wanted. He could peel Dean’s lips from his face. Make Cas stitch him back up with Sam’s cock still inside, so they’re stuck together for as long as it takes Sam to get bored. _You belong to me._

It doesn’t matter. They’ll realise soon enough.

He drops Dean’s head then walks around the chair. He touches the base of Dean’s skull, scratches fingers through the fine hairs at the back of his neck. With a blip of power he turns his thumbnail sharp and hard, and uses it to put a tidy little slice down the length of Dean’s spine, from the base of his skull to the lump of his fifth vertebra. He runs over it twice more to deepen it.

Dean doesn’t bother screaming. He’s already used to taking much worse than this. All he does is groan and twitch, and blue light oozes to the wound. The light putters and flares, struggling to close. Sam lets Cas stem the bleeding, then he digs fingers into the slice to stop any further healing. This time Dean screams. His spine goes rigid against Sam’s power. Sam strokes his neck with his thumbs until Dean stills, and then Sam begins to pull the two sides of flesh apart, using his thumbnail to get through the strands of tissue. Dean makes aborted little jerks, yelping and crying out. Cas’s light filters around Sam’s fingers, trying to heal around him.

“Why are you hurting us?” they ask with Dean’s voice.

Sam presses a kiss into the back of Dean’s head. _Because I love you,_ he doesn’t say. They won’t understand that, yet. They aren’t ready for the enormity of Sam’s love for them. His need to possess them, be a part of them. He’s carving himself a space right next to their shared heart.

Dean’s spine is startlingly white. So white, in fact, that the blood running down his back seems even darker in comparison. Thick and red and _beautiful._ Sam puts his hand under the stream to collect a palmful of it, like he’s washing his hands beneath a faucet. He lets the blood spill over the sides, lets himself become just a furnishing for the fountain of Dean’s body. Even as a kid all he’d ever wanted to be was the spotlight for Dean’s glory.

Then Cas has to go and stem that bleeding, too.

“You’re no fun,” he tells them. He upends his hands over the wound, pouring the thickening blood back into and over Dean’s body. Then he wedges his fingers around the edge of Dean’s spine so he can grip it from the other side. His forefinger fits over the spike of Dean’s topmost vertebra. The pad of his third finger rubs carefully until the sinew parts and he can feel the socket just below. Dean’s barely making any noise right now, just high-pitched little huffs with every exhale, like he wants to scream properly but can’t find the energy.

Sam caresses Dean from the inside, then puts his knee on the back of the chair and his other hand on the back of Dean’s head and Cas must realise what he’s about to do because light pools around his fingers, trying to pry them off. The blue and the white and the red all tangled up together, impotent and beautiful. Every part of Dean is weak, right now. The only thing in his body with any strength is Sam’s hand in the back of his neck.

He wrenches his arm back. There’s a moment of resistance where Cas tries to keep everything all together, and then the vertebra _pops_ loose and the muscle tears and all the little supporting structures crack and strain and fracture apart, sending a fine spray of fluid over Sam’s face and hands.

Dean’s body goes limp and his head falls forward and Sam catches him partway, supporting him with tendrils of power so he’s bent, resting forward at an angle. He doesn’t even scream. At least, not for a few long seconds. Like the pain of it is at a magnitude even his well-trained body can’t handle.

“Cas,” he chokes, and then, “I’ll fix it, I can, I, I can fix it.” The two of them talking to each other in the same broken voice. Every muscle from the chin downwards is lax.

Sam grips the fifth vertebra and tugs, and with a satisfying wet _plop_ it disconnects from the rest of the spine, tearing tissue and muscle as it goes. Dean sags even further into Sam’s power, trembling and begging and making a beautiful, awful wail that might have been a scream if he had the muscle control to force enough air out. Sam drops the section of spine he’s acquired. He’ll add it to his collection. A fun theological experiment: if he collects bits of Dean’s insides and Cas regrows them one by one, then who owns the real Dean? He will have the original skeleton and Cas will have the new one, and neither of them will belong to the actual owner.

“You don’t belong to you,” he tells them both, and isn’t surprised when he doesn’t get a reply. Cas is desperately trying to keep Dean alive, trying to keep a connection with the rest of his body so it doesn’t fail without an input from his central nervous system. They’re both too weak to stop Sam from doing whatever he wants.

Sam can fit both hands inside the gap he’s made. So he does. He’s careful of the vulnerable little tubes: especially the rigid one taking air to and from Dean’s lungs. He needs that one to work so he can hear the delicious sounds Dean’s making. He squeezes past all the delicate little structures so he can cup Dean’s neck from the other side. His hands bulge the skin out, obscene and restless. When Dean screams he can feel the vibration of his vocal chords against his fingertips. 

“Sweetheart,” he coos. “You sound so good when I’m inside you.” He presses gently against the place where the vocal cords are hidden, to hear the resonance change in Dean’s voice. He’s becoming an instrument, a little musical songbird for Sam’s whims. Blue light sparkles here and there, no doubt attempting to triage the situation. Cas isn’t powerful enough to fix everything, so he’ll be choosing the most important bits. Stem the bleeding. Isolate the organs. Keep them alive.

Sam flexes his fingers so Dean’s chin bounces. Neither Dean nor Cas can stop him. He uses his hold to pull Dean back into the chair, where he can rub his erection in the mess that was once Dean’s neck. His dick smears through the blood and gore before pushing into the wound. It twangs off the trachea and the vibrations are wet and sticky and perfect. When Dean screams it feels like a hum against his cockhead.

“Can you know what you do to me?” he asks them. He wants them to feel how Dean’s blood excites him.

He thrusts gently against Dean’s vocal cords for a little bit, clutching at him from the inside. His fingers sometimes tear more muscle fibres so he ends up holding his own cock through a pile of shredded tissue. Sometimes grace sparks against him, trying to heal, and it adds an extra spice to the pleasure.

He scoops some of the excess stringy bits out of the wound, lets them _drip_ quietly to the floor. Dean is panting against his power, so far gone into shock that he’s not even trembling anymore. Sam caresses his forehead, leaving bloody streaks against the pale skin. Dean barely even notices, and Cas is hardly any better. They’re both too exhausted.

“Almost done,” he murmurs. “You’re almost done, angel. Just one more thing to heal.” He presses his sharpened thumb nail against the place where the oesophagus widens into the back of the mouth. He can feel the root of Dean’s tongue there, tensing restlessly. Carefully, he slices. Dean and Cas’s reaction is immediate and, if Sam’s being honest, rather melodramatic. It’s just another little structure, not even that important. There’s hardly any blood. “Almost done,” he promises, scarcely breathing even as they jerk against him. “We’re almost there.”

The rigid tissue parts easily and he helps it along by widening it. Dean makes some half-vocalised moan, retching. It must feel truly awful, having pain so far back in the throat, but whatever part of Sam cared about his brother’s wellbeing died when he took that first sip from Ruby’s wrist.

And that was a long, long time ago.

The tip of his cock fits into the new hole he’s created, and the sides split when he thrusts further in. Cas is barely strong enough to even stem the bleeding. Dean’s certainly not strong enough to fight him. Sam’s all alone in here. He rubs his cockhead against the root of Dean’s tongue where it transitions into the wall of his throat. Dean gags and reflexively chokes, his shoulders moving involuntarily. Sam lets him; rides the gentle wave of his suffocation. Dean’s body might resist him but his insides are soft and warm and welcoming. His insides don’t know how to refuse Sam. His insides make room amongst themselves, parting squishily to let Sam’s cock rise up, up into the back of Dean’s mouth.

“Look at you,” Sam whispers, and he conjures a mirror so Dean can do just that. His reflection stares groggily back. One pupil blown out cataleptic-wide and the other pointing in the wrong direction. “Look at you,” Sam says again, and puts a bit of an order into it. Dean’s eyes find each other. His reflection gets a shock of recognition. Sam pulls out just a fraction, lets his precum ooze into the back of Dean’s mouth where he can’t help but taste it. The automatic swallow feels like Dean’s body is trying to squeeze Sam back out from the way he came, but Sam resists, letting the muscles close around his cockhead before the peristalsis ends uselessly at the split Sam’s created. An odd sort of pressure indicates that Cas has rerouted Dean’s breathing, so he’s pulling air from the little gaps between Sam’s dick and Dean’s throat. Clever angel.

He pushes back in and explores Dean’s mouth carefully. He’ll have plenty of time to discover it fully from the customary entrance, but now that he’s here he plans on making use of this angle, first. He brushes up against the back of Dean’s molars, parted around the hang of Dean’s jaw. Dean moans pitifully. Sam guesses that he severed too many muscles for Dean’s jaw to be able to close like it’s supposed to.

“That’s one way to keep you quiet,” he muses to himself. Though of course he never wants Dean _quiet,_ quiet. Only to be obedient.

Dean’s tongue flexes robotically, no doubt trying to rid itself of the enormous intrusion of Sam’s cock. This has the opposite effect than intended because Dean’s body tries to push Sam out via the mouth, inadvertently drawing Sam further in.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Let me in. Let me in all the way.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “No—” he whispers, slurring terribly. His _N_ gets all lost in his _O._ But then it doesn’t matter what he wants to say, because his mouth parts fractionally further and the head of Sam’s dick slips out from between his lips, and they both watch the mouth of his reflection go perfectly rounded to accommodate the head of Sam’s cock..

“Yes,” Sam tells him, implacable. His balls come to rest right in the crook of the hole he’s dug himself. He presses them hard against the bloodied wound, and there’s not a single prick of grace against him. Cas has finally run dry. Sam slips out of Dean’s mouth and Dean tries to close his lips but most of the required muscle is missing, and the muscle he _does_ have is too exhausted to obey. Which makes it all too easy for Sam to slide back in again, peeking free from between Dean’s lips slowly, slowly, then pulling back so they can both see the dark cavern of Dean’s mouth, and the obscene stretch of his lips. The way he’s held open for Sam even when Sam’s not there.

Dean chokes against him, and Sam’s dick twitches hard. Hard enough that Dean and Cas surely felt it even with all the other… distractions.

“You were made for me,” Sam tells them both, watching a little bead of precome ooze from the slit of his cock to dribble onto Dean’s lips. Dean’s too tired to cry properly, but that doesn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. For a few minutes Sam lives in utter bliss, fucking lazily into his brother while his angel can’t do anything to help. He leaves sticky trails of fluid on Dean’s tongue, and the roof of his mouth, and all down the back of his throat. “You were made for this,” he keeps saying. “Look how well you take it.”

After a while he notices that Dean’s not even responding anymore. His eyes barely flicker. Sam’s cock thrusts out from between Dean’s lips over and over, but even Dean’s tongue has stopped writhing against him.

Perplexed, he dives into Dean’s body to find his big brother. The first thing he notices is that Dean, quite disappointingly, is close to death. Cas is using the tiny speckles of his grace to shelter Dean in his own mind instead of using the grace to maintain Dean’s body. Trying to escape Sam forever, no doubt. Clever, but not clever enough. Death wouldn’t have kept either of them for long.

Sam buries himself to the hilt in the back of Dean’s neck, and cards his bloodied fingers through Dean’s hair. “Come back, baby,” he calls softly. “Come on, sweetheart, come back to me.” He knows Cas, at least, can hear him. But apparently Cas is too busy cuddling Dean’s soul to pay attention to Sam’s calls.

No matter. He has other ways of getting Dean’s attention.

He uncurls a tendril of power and sends it into Dean’s belly, letting it curl and lengthen. Part of the tendril goes down to coil inside Dean’s testicles, and the other part takes the longer route to Dean’s cock, rubbing at the base of it from the inside. There is an immediate increase in local blood circulation, and Sam flicks his power to increase the blood volume as well. Helpful. He’s so _helpful._

For a moment nothing else happens, and then Sam remembers that he disconnected Dean’s nervous system. Dean won’t be able to feel any of this. With a thought he lets all the little pieces rewire themselves, forming a vulnerable little filament over and around the place where his cock is still buried.

With a jerk, Dean’s body comes back to life. Sam resumes his petting, coaxing Dean’s cock into a response. Cas must be able to feel it but he doubles down on his hold, refusing to let Dean back out.

“Come on,” Sam coaxes. “You’ll like this part. You both will.”

He doesn’t let up, rubbing and squeezing and swirling until Dean’s cock is rock hard and his testicles are swollen and tender. He eases the tip of a tendril down Dean’s urethra, letting the base of Dean’s cock bulge around the pressure.

Dean blinks and his lips try to form a word around Sam’s dick.

“There you are,” Sam says, inflating the tendrils a tiny bit more. Dean’s testicles are fit to burst. He pushes down Dean’s cock until half of it is filled, and Dean jerks and yelps soundlessly, his throat working around Sam. Grace pitter-patters under his skin for a few seconds before receding and Dean’s eyes refocus on his reflection.

“I win,” Sam tells Cas smugly. He lets the tendril fill out the rest of Dean’s cock, and Dean cries out, his whole body writhing against Sam’s hold now that most of his muscles are—at least partially—back online. Delicious.

With the delicate little filaments looped around the base of his cock, Sam isn’t able to pull back out without risking severing everything and losing Dean again. But he doesn’t really need to. He has all the stimulation he needs. He sends pulses along Dean’s dick and squeezes his balls rhythmically, stretching them away from Dean’s body as far as possible before releasing them to their normal position. Each touch makes Dean jerk and gag. The vibrations of his vocal cords are just noticeable on the underside of Sam’s cock. His tongue wriggles ineffectually, pressing against Sam’s length.

Sam begins to stitch Dean back up. All the split muscles get reattached and the missing blood gets replaced and even the bone is remade. He heals everything easily, barely even expending energy on it. Most of his focus is going into Dean’s pleasure. Pulling him up to the brink and caressing him even higher. When he gets too close Sam yanks his balls, twisting cruelly until Dean would be soft if not for the tendril that has thickened up inside him.

He locks eyes with Dean’s reflection, so he can see the exact moment where Dean realises what’s happening. He nods, smiling tenderly. _That’s right, sweethearts._

The last flap of skin finishes healing, with Sam’s balls still behind them. Sam’s locked into place in the back of Dean’s head, his cock affixed in Dean’s mouth. With his mind he strokes Dean back to full hardness, and lets Dean choke and gag around him until he feels his balls tighten up with impending-orgasm, safe and warm in the welcoming wet of Dean’s body.

Cas and Dean must both be able to feel the change, because Dean tries to shake his head even as Cas speckles behind his eyes, attempting to draw him back down into the unfeeling blankness of his mind.

Cas is too late. Sam reaches over Dean’s shoulder to touch his cheeks, poking a little to feel himself through the skin. Precome oozes onto Dean’s lips with every touch. God, Sam’s close. He’s so close. He caresses Dean inside and out. Puts pressure on his neck so Dean swallows and swallows and it feels like Sam’s fucking in against the pressure.

“I belong in here,” he tells Dean’s reflection, breathing hard. He holds Dean’s face with both hands and curls over the back of him, and Dean tries to talk but of course nothing comes out. His tongue writhes against Sam and that’s it, that’s all it takes. Sam’s body clenches up and his cock jerks, lines of come blurting out and falling over Dean’s chest and belly, then onto his chin, then dribbling down to drip onto Dean’s lips and back into his mouth.

Dean shuts his eyes and tears drip down his face and Sam wipes them away, still jerking in his mouth. He releases Dean’s cock and balls, drawing his tendrils of power back. Dean’s erection stays for an admirable few minutes before it succumbs, shrivelling up under the weight of pain and humiliation.

“Don’t worry,” Sam says over Dean’s head, kissing his temples, caressing his cheeks. “You’ll get another chance.” Gently, he pulls his hips backwards so the weight of his genitals tugs against Dean from the inside. Dean groans, his jaw flexing uselessly. It’s delicious overstimulation. Sam uses his sharpened thumbnail to scratch over Dean’s scalp, petting gently.

Dean’s throat works around a sob that he can’t release. Their eyes meet in the mirror and Sam smiles down at him, twitching his hips a little just to watch Dean’s head follow the movements. Dean’s eyes close again, and this time Sam lets Cas drag him into unconsciousness, though not all the way down into the unfeeling corners of his mind.

“Cas,” Sam calls when he’s sure Dean’s asleep.

Dean’s eyes open again, but it’s not Dean behind them.

“Angel,” Sam acknowledges. He thumbs Dean’s lips where his own cock peeks through, rubbing the cooling semen back into Dean’s slack mouth. “Take him away from me again,” he warns, “and the next time we do this I’ll be fucking him with his own dick.”

Dean’s eyes flicker, and his eyelids shut once more. It’s the closest to an acceptance that Sam’s going to get right now. But there’ll be time for more later.

For now, he’ll watch Dean sleep, blindly keeping Sam’s cock warm, ready for round two.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is loosely based off my [Mind Over Matter](https://archiveofourown.org/series/477544) series, featuring demon blood powered Sam. If you liked this then you might like those fics too. I usually don't rec my own work in the end notes but it was _really hard_ to find fics that cater to this level of evil. You might enjoy [And I Have Been Consumed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/557895/chapters/995320) by meus_venator but full disclosure I haven't finished it yet. If anyone knows of another fic that fits the bill, hmu so I can add it here :)


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